


The Coming Storm

by cellard00rs



Series: CSAC series [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Drinking, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Sibling Incest, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 15:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7227613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellard00rs/pseuds/cellard00rs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ford and Preston drink and talk about their fears. Set after Chapter 19, during the period of time in which Stan is off with The Flesh Curtains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coming Storm

“Are you drunk?”

“Nooooooo,” Ford sing songs and he nudges Preston’s foot with his own, “You?”

“Northwest’s don’t get drunk,” Preston assures him and Ford lets out a snigger. They’re sitting out on the balcony, just out of reach of a thunderstorm that’s raging outside. Thick drafts of rain fall from the sky and thunder periodically booms, lighting dragging across the sky like skeletal hands.

The awning above keeps them dry and they’re both in white plastic lawn chairs. They’ve made their seats more comfortable with throws and pillows and they’re just spectating the storm, several empty cans of beer around them. 

Ford was surprised Preston was willing to drink beer and Preston said he didn’t blame him.

“Normally I’d never sully my lips with such swill,” Preston told him, “But tonight I…I shall make an exception.”

The pause was odd and the way Preston had been looking at him at the time…it was almost as if he had planned to say, ‘But tonight, _for you_ , I shall make an exception’. Which Ford is sure he wasn’t going to say. Why would he say that? And even if he had, Ford would’ve just been flattered, so why the pause? Still, the question is too much for him to contemplate right now.

All he wants to contemplate is the bottom of another can, so he takes a healthy swig of the cold one he’s holding. Ford has never particularly been a fan of beer himself, but it’s cheap, so that’s what they’re drinking. Besides, Stan likes beer. Stanley…

“‘S been almost two months,” Ford mummers aloud and when he hears the words he feels some surprise. He meant to _think_ that, not _say_ it. He waits for Preston to ask what he means, but instead he gets a quietly slurred, “‘M sure he’ll be back any day now.”

Ford doesn’t know what to say to that. A loud clap of thunder rings out and Ford shrinks in a little. The storm is as frightening as it is beautiful. Preston seems entirely unmoved and for some reason it prompts Ford to ask, “Are you…are you afraid of anything?”

This gets him a cool look and Ford swallows. Preston’s eyes…they’re so cold sometimes. Ford’s sure he doesn’t intend for them to be that way. It’s probably just their color. That silvery grey blue, like a crisp winter morning sky. Not at all like Stanley’s warm browns. Those eyes make Ford feel safe, they always have. These eyes make him feel like he’s on thin ice. They look away and he gets a soft, “No.”

“Really?” Ford nudges his foot again, tries to make this playful, “You can’t be-be todally perfect, Pres.”

“Did you mean to say ‘totally’ there?”

He gives a sleepy sound of agreement and Preston sighs. He sips his beer and traces one finger along the rim before shrugging, “I’m not perfect. Not by any means.”

“You sure?”

“Well,” Preston rubs at the back of his neck, “I probably would not say this, were I fully sober, but I _do_ have some flaws.”

“Such-such as?”

“You are already aware of them; you’ve been on their receiving end many times. I can be…condescending. And rude. Slightly egotistical.”

“Slightly?”

“Shut up, Pines,” Preston chuckles and drinks more and Ford knows this is a good place to leave it but, for some reason – maybe the alcohol, maybe not – he presses on, “Okay, but…mean, I know your flaws, but not…not your fears.”

Fords gets a resounding sigh out of him but that’s not what he wants,“You…you’re really not afraid of anything?”

“I take it you are?” Preston counters and Ford nods. His mind flashes to his father - to rough, abusive hands and words, but he quickly pushes past that to something easier to talk about, “Sure. Mean…I like storm watching but big booming thunder…trips me up a bit. Snakes….not a big fan of those. Being…being without…without Stan…that’s been _real_ terrifying.”

He shifts in his seat, rises up and nudges Preston’s foot some more. It’s the weirdest thing, but he likes the sensation. It’s like they’re playing footsie. And it’s a nice sight to see. His converse shoes smacking against Preston’s perfectly polished dress shoes. 

Who casually wears dress shoes? It’s like a snapshot of the classes – blue collar next to white. Although Preston isn’t a white collar worker – he’s not a worker at all. Ford starts to contemplate what kind of color collar that would be, when he hears a soft, “Bells.”

“What?”

Preston draws in a deep breath through his nose, “I’m…I don’t like bells.”

Ford blinks sluggishly at this revelation and Preston just finishes off his beer. He grabs another and pops it, “And the future. Albeit everyone has a healthy fear of that.”

“Yeah…yeah, not a fan of the future either.”

They sit there in silence for a while before Ford whispers, “I’m worried of a future without Stanley in it. You?”

Again, nothing for a while, nothing but the storm raging. Finally, “I’m not worried about the future. I fear it, because I already know it,” he drinks more, as if he has to, as if he _needs_ to, before continuing, “I know who I will become.”

“And that is?”

“A mirror reflection of the man who raised me.”

“Preston…” he starts but the other boy is lost now, eyes staring out at nothing as he talks in the deadest of tones, “I’ll be cruel and calculating. I’ll run a successful business, be wealthy beyond my dreams, but devoid of any true substance. I’ll marry the first attractive woman I can and have a child and then…well, then I won’t be afraid of bells anymore. Because I shall be the one to wield it. I shall be its master. I shall pass my fear on to the next generation and so on and so on and…”

Ford does more than nudge Preston’s foot now. He gets to his feet and walks over to him. He bends down to his eye level and reaches out, taking one of his hands. His hands are _freezing_. It’s warm out, muggy even, and Preston’s hand is ice. Ford takes that hand and warms it between his own, squeezes it, “That won’t happen, Preston. Promise.”

Preston still doesn’t look at him, eyes casting out into the void as his top lip curls up, voice sardonic, “You _are_ drunk.”

“Hey,” Ford tugs on that hand, presses it to his chest and Preston finally looks at him, “I’m serious. That won’t happen.”

“It has. It will,” Preston promises, “If not in this world, than in another. You told me of it before…alternate universes…in one of them – no, in _all_ of them, this is what comes to pass. Preston Northwest…the heartless despot.”

“Not _all_ of them,” Ford insists, “Not _this_ one. Preston…those others, if they exist…they don’t matter. _This_ ,” he squeezes his hand again, “ _This_ matters. _This_ universe, _this_ one – the one where you’re Preston Northwest…the heartfelt hero.”

Preston snatches his hand back and lets out as humorless laugh, “Hero? How am I a hero? That…dear Fordsy…is truly the _last_ thing I shall ever be.”

Ford stands up and looks down at him. His vision swims some and, yes, he is inebriated. But Preston’s words have snapped something into place for him, some will that he clings to, as he asserts, “Not true. You and Stanley…you both always say these…these lies and it’s…” 

He shakes his head, does his best to focus, “You’re _not_ your father, Preston. You’re not going to become him and you _are_ a hero. You’re a hero because you’re _trying_. You’re trying your very best to be the best you can be. To be better than him. I…I believe in you, Preston. I know you can do it.“

Preston looks up at him and something flashes in those eyes, something Ford doesn’t understand until Preston surges to his feet and Ford staggers slightly because, oh, yeah…Preston’s taller than him. Not by much, true, but in Ford’s current condition he seems to almost tower over him. He’s breathing heavily and Ford’s not sure what is happening until Preston cups his face and drags him forward.

He tugs Ford close and places a big, soft kiss on the top of his forehead – right in the center. The kiss is firm and it makes Ford’s throat twist, heart hammering until Preston lets him go. Preston wavers himself and before he moves away, he stands in Ford’s personal space, somehow radiating heat despite how cold his hands were as he whispers into Ford’s hair, “Thank you.”

Then he turns and shoves his chair away, damn near stalking back into the apartment. Ford hears a door open and close and he blinks again, confused, until he realizes Preston went into the restroom. The storm is starting to die down, so Ford brings everything inside. He takes a seat on the couch and waits.

He waits and he waits and he worries and he wonders and then Preston emerges. To the untrained eye, Preston looks picture perfect. But Ford sees the tale tell red rims just under his eyes and he knows Preston went in there to cry. He debates on whether or not he should comment on it when Preston just says brightly, “Can we see what’s on TV?”

Ford offers a weak smile and nods, turning the set before them on.


End file.
